Movin' Out
by Zubeneschamali
Summary: Terry prepares to leave Los Angeles. DT nonfluff. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Movin' Out  
Author: Zubeneschamali  
Rating: T  
Summary: Terry prepares to leave Los Angeles. D/T non-fluff.

Author's Note: I don't usually ship Don/Terry, but this little story just came to me as I was packing up and moving a couple of weeks ago. Many thanks to Susan for beta reading.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes/I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again.  
--Billy Joel, "Say Goodbye to Hollywood"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

The ripping sound of packing tape had been echoing off the walls of the increasingly empty apartment for hours now, but she was finally done. Terry tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ears for what seemed like the tenth time, and sighed. She hadn't expected to have to box up everything herself, but it hadn't been that bad in the end. David and some other friends from the office had offered to help her pack, and had even gotten as far as taping together some boxes before they were called away on a double murder in West Hollywood. Regretfully, David drove off, giving her a farewell hug in case he didn't get to see her before she left in the morning.

Presumably, Don was in West Hollywood, too, though she really had no clue. She hadn't seen much of him for the past four weeks, ever since she got the phone call from back East. She'd talked to him first, privately, hoping that he would see the personal vs. professional dilemma that she was facing. But after the first expression of shock that flitted across his face, he'd dropped behind that professional mask she knew all too well, telling her that of course the chance to run her own field office was worth taking. She knew how the system worked, he reminded her, and if you didn't grab the opportunity to advance your career when it came along, it might not come along again.

She'd hazarded complaints about the cold weather, the relatively small city, and the difficulties in traveling all the way across the country where she knew no one. He'd said that Delaware didn't get that cold compared to a lot of places, Wilmington was only an hour from DC or Philly, and there were plenty of people in the area that she knew from Quantico or previous assignments.

But not you, she wanted to say.

There was a psychologist from Phoenix taking her place, and they had overlapped by a week so she could pass on her wisdom concerning life as an FBI profiler in Los Angeles. Everyone goes up one rung on the ladder, she thought, wondering who would be promoted from Jackson or Fargo or, well, Wilmington, to fill the Arizona slot, and so on. And how different were the criminals from one place to another, anyway? It was more accurate to say that she had passed on her wisdom concerning life in the LA field office, the quirks and hierarchies of this particular group of people. How to get certain things done under the supervisor's radar, how to cover your partner's rear when they didn't quite follow procedure, how to decide whether to pass the buck on or let it stop at your desk.

She realized with a start that she was going to be the top of the hierarchy. Everyone was going to be trying to figure out how to deal with her.

Don had said he was there to help if she needed anything, from helping with the move to reassigning her cases. But then there was the UFO over Los Angeles, and then the fugitive hunt. She knew they were important cases, and it didn't make sense for her to get too involved when she was leaving so soon. From one or two conversations with David, though, she'd started to worry about Don's interactions with Billy Cooper. She hadn't been in touch with Don very much during his fugitive recovery days; she'd been newly married, newly located across the country, and from what she understood, he hadn't been in touch with much of anyone at that point in his life. David didn't like Coop very much, that was clear. And when she saw Don around the office, he seemed to have recovered a bit of the over-confident frat-boy attitude that had made him less than endearing when they first met.

By the time the case was over, he was back to his level-headed, assured-but-not-cocky self. But he still wasn't around much. When she called Charlie to ask for his help wrapping up one final case, he mentioned that Don had been around the house a lot more recently, and he thought he was trying to make up for the years he'd been absent from the family. "Good for him," she said. And she meant it.

But Alan and Charlie were still going to be in Los Angeles next week, and she wasn't.

Terry checked her watch. The movers were due in fifteen minutes. She went to automatically drop down onto her rocking chair, then remembered it was already wrapped with blankets. So she lowered herself onto the floor, picking at a few large bits of detritus that the vacuum cleaner would probably choke on.

The ringing of her cell phone startled her. She looked around for a moment, hoping she hadn't accidentally packed it. But it was sitting on the coffee table, blinking at her. She lunged for it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Terry." Don's warm voice washed over her.

"Hi." So, he had decided to call after all. She'd had the sneaking suspicion that he wasn't going to realize she had left until he came into the office on Monday and found her gone. It was nice when people didn't match your cynical expectations.

"How's it going?"

"Well, I'm all packed. Just waiting for the movers to come."

There was a pause. "Shit. I'm sorry, Terry. I totally forgot. I was going to come and help you."

"It's okay." She leaned back against the wall. "I don't really have that much stuff."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. The life of an FBI nomad." The sound of traffic filled in the pause in the conversation. "So, uh, when do you leave?"

"My flight's at 7 A.M. tomorrow." She'd told him the date and the time at least three times already. "At least I won't have to sleep on the floor for too long, with a flight that early."

"What? No, come on, Terry, stay at my place. I'll even give you a ride."

She sighed. "Thanks, but I don't think so."

"No, listen." There was just traffic noise for a moment, then he went on, "I know I haven't been around much since, well, these past few weeks. I've been a lousy friend, Terry. It's the least I can do."

Well, he had a point. But she had already accepted that she was just going to pass out of his life again without really saying goodbye. Staying the night at his place (not "with him," she sternly told herself) made that kind of difficult. Not to mention the potential for a sentimental goodbye at LAX. She hated that sort of thing.

So she surprised herself when she opened her mouth and said, "Okay, Don, that sounds great. Thanks."

"Good." She could picture him smiling as he spoke, the corners of his eyes folding up in the way that no one else's did, when he really meant the smile. She was going to miss that. "What time should I come by?"

"Um, I'll give you a call. I don't know how long the movers are going to take, and then I have to clean the place..."

"Want some company? I could help you clean to make up for my earlier absence."

She stared across the sea of boxes in her living room. It was probably better if she said no. She liked to clean things just so, and she'd have to be cleaning up after Don if he didn't do it right. And then even a few extra hours with him would remind her that much more of what she was giving up.

So of course she said yes.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Six hours later, her things were gone and the apartment was sparkling clean. Beyond sparkling, Don insisted, but all she said was that she'd gotten screwed over in the past by landlords and their exceptionally high standards, and she had every intention of getting back her entire security deposit. He'd certainly done his part, putting in more elbow grease than she'd ever seen a man use. Then again, his apartment always was clean, as long as she'd known him. That was one thing they wouldn't have fought about if they'd ever...

Terry shook her head. That was a train of thought that was best off derailed.

"So, what are you doing with the keys? Did you get a hold of your landlord?"

"No, I left a message. I'd rather wait here so I can walk through the place with him and make sure everything's to his satisfaction." She looked at her watch. It was already 4 P.M. For a 7 A.M. flight, that meant getting to the airport at 6; no, make that 5:30, since it was a Monday morning. From Don's place, that meant leaving at probably 4:45, so a 4 A.M. alarm. Which meant unless she was asleep by 8, she wouldn't get the eight hours of sleep that she really needed. And there were still a few phone calls she had to make, and then there was Don to deal with, which would require a lot of emotional energy if nothing else. She let out a huge sigh.

"Hey, I can do it tomorrow. If he doesn't call you back this evening, I can turn the keys in and check the place over for you. It beats sitting around here on the floor."

She looked at him. His grey t-shirt was streaked with sweat, and there was a white smear of Bon Ami on his forearm. "Don, you don't have to do that."

He shrugged. "He's got your cell number, right? We can always come back over. I don't know about you, but..." He made a show of sniffing the air. "I'm smelling a little ripe. Next time, don't get the electricity turned off until the day after you move, okay? Some air conditioning would have been nice."

The next time. Yes, there would certainly be a next time, unless she stayed in Wilmington for the rest of her life. She'd thought that L.A. would be the end of the line, the end of the nomadism that she and Don and others always joked about and took for granted. Being just another agent as part of the big L.A. team wasn't so bad, anyway. For one wild moment she thought about calling the movers back. Never mind, I'm staying, she would say. Screw the poor agents in Phoenix and Fargo and all the way back down the chain who thought they were moving up. I'm staying put.

"Hey, Terry, you okay?"

She blinked at him. "Don, why am I leaving?"

"Because you're movin' on up, in the immortal words of George Jefferson." Her expression didn't change. "Okay, so maybe Delaware isn't the big time, but it's on the way." His brow furrowed. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

She folded her arms and walked over to stare out the window. The view of downtown had always served as a good barometer, not of air pressure but of air quality. Today, the hazy brown line across the horizon confirmed that summer was truly here. There probably wasn't much smog in Wilmington, she thought.

"Not really," she answered Don's question. "It's just ... you always have that moment after a big decision when you wonder if you're doing the right thing. I guess this is just the first time I've had that moment. Kind of late, isn't it?"

"Hey, come on," he said softly, crossing the room to stand next to her. "You're doing the right thing, you know. I mean, professionally you have to do it. And you'll be great, Terry, you know you will. All the criminals in Delaware had better watch out."

She turned in time to catch the tail end of the famous Eppes smile, which she reflected back with a hesitant smile of her own. "It could be worse." At his raised eyebrow, she went on, "The other office that had an opening was Duluth."

"Ooh." Don winced. "Now that's one of those places that really does get cold."

"Wimp."

"Hey, you were the one complaining about the temperature in Delaware. Don't give me that."

"I know. I guess my blood has thinned, living in California for so long."

"It's too bad it couldn't be longer." The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise.

She gave him a half smile. "Yeah, it is." She stared into his eyes for a moment, wondering what to say next.

The growling of her stomach took care of that dilemma. She looked down, startled, and Don gave a little laugh. "See, it's time to get out of here. I suppose you didn't have much left here in the way of food?"

"No, and I think I forgot to eat lunch," she said sheepishly.

He put a hand on her elbow and guided her towards the door. "All right, we're definitely out of here. We'll go to my place, get cleaned up, and then I will take you out on the town wherever you would like to go."

"Don, that's really not necessary. We can just grab something on the way back to your place." Sitting on his couch watching a Dodgers game with Chinese takeout on the coffee table was far preferable to an evening spent staring at him across the table in some restaurant, making awkward conversation about the move and her new job.

"Please, Terry." He came to a stop in front of the door, and she looked up at him. "Look, you're my oldest and closest friend in the FBI, and you're moving across the country tomorrow. And I have to admit, I've kind of been hiding from you the past few weeks. I guess I was in denial about you leaving, and I thought if I didn't deal with it, you wouldn't go away. Let me make it up to you tonight."

"That's sweet, Don, but you were busy. You've had a couple of tough cases recently, and I understand."

"No, really." His hand was still on her elbow, but now it slid down to grasp her hand. "I do think that you're doing the right thing by going, but I still wish you weren't." His gaze was too complicated to read, but he kept looking at her intently, as if he was trying to tell her something beyond the words he was saying. "Does that make sense?"

Perfectly, she thought. You have no idea how perfectly. Out loud, she said softly, "I think I know exactly what you mean."

"Good," He gave her an affectionate smile. "So, where do you want to go?"

A million possibilities sprang into her mind, but one stood out almost instantly. It wasn't a restaurant, it wasn't a place haunted by any memories of past dates, and it wasn't expensive. The perfect combination. "Santa Monica," she said, unconsciously squeezing

Don's hand, still holding hers. "The boardwalk. And Venice Beach."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Any particular reason?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I've always had a good time there, and it's not like anything else in L.A. I doubt it's like anything else in the world, actually."

"Yeah, I doubt the boardwalks and beaches in Delaware have the same collection of folks that Venice does." He looked at her thoughtfully, and then tugged her towards the door. "Okay, let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

Whoops, I forgot the disclaimer. ahem The characters of NUMB3RS belong to the writers and producers at CBS, not me. Thank you.

Chapter 2

Three hours later, they were strolling along the pier, stuffed full of hot dogs and ice cream. Terry pulled the last pink strand of cotton candy off the paper cone and tossed the cone in a garbage bin. "Mmm."

Don gave her a fond smile. "I never knew you liked that stuff so much."

"We went to the state fair every year when I was a kid. Cotton candy was the highlight as far as I was concerned." She licked the last bit off her fingers. "That and the ferris wheel, even if my brother did insist on rocking the car back and forth just to scare me."

He chuckled, one of those low rumbles from his chest that she loved so much. "We can ride the ferris wheel and I can take your brother's role, if you want to make the experience complete."

She shot him a mock glare. "No thanks."

They had walked down to the end of the long Santa Monica Pier and about halfway back. The pier was a kind of perpetual carnival, complete with amusement park rides, arcades, and tacky souvenir shops. It was the kind of place that you usually only went to if you

had out-of-town guests, unless you lived close by. Terry had only come once or twice, but she'd always had a good time. And it was a nice, public setting, far from the intimate awkwardness of a dimly lit restaurant or Don's apartment.

Not that things were awkward between them at all. No, they had had a really good time, just walking and talking and eating. "Thanks, Don," she said as they came to a stop and turned towards the water.

"For what?"

"For taking me here. I'm having a great time. It's just what I would have wanted for my last night." To the south, around the curve of the bay, the lights periodically rising into the sky from LAX reminded her that she would be on one of those planes in less than twelve hours.

"Good, I'm glad."

After a moment, she turned her head to find him staring at her. Self-consciously tucking her hair behind her ear, she asked, "What is it?"

He was looking at her as though he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then he gave a half smile and turned back to the water, leaning his well-muscled forearms on the wooden railing. "Do you remember when I came back to Los Angeles?"

"Yes, I do." Not under the best circumstances, as she recalled. She'd been torn between being glad to see her old friend again, and sorrowful as to the circumstances that had brought him there. Even though Don didn't say it, not until months later, she knew his mother had to be in pretty poor health for him to uproot himself like that. Scuttlebutt had said that he was even willing to take a cut in pay grade and privileges, though it hadn't come to that. Don wasn't exactly one to climb the promotion ladder for its own sake, but it would have had to be serious for him to consider taking a step down.

"Do you remember what you said to me?"

Her heart started pounding harder, even though she knew it was silly. "I'm sure I said a lot of things to you, Don."

"We had gone out to dinner to catch up. It was just around the corner from your apartment. Still the best Thai place I know of." He shifted his weight a little. "We went up to your place and talked a while longer. And it was so ... it was so good to talk to you again, Terry, and to be with you again."

He drew a deep breath and continued to look out over the water, the breeze ruffling the short strands of hair sticking up from the top of his head. "I never told you this, but I was on the verge of asking you out then. Just, you know, a casual date to see if we could pick up where we left off. I mean, we broke up when we left Quantico because we were being separated to different offices, not because anything really went wrong between us."

She folded her hands tightly over the wooden railing. "Weren't you pretty seriously involved with Kim?"

"It was already over before I moved back here. We just ... I guess we'd moved too fast, and the more we got to know each other, the

more we realized it wasn't going to work. My moving away was the excuse we both needed. And then I saw you again, and ..." He trailed off.

"And then I told you to buzz off." Now she clearly remembered what he was talking about.

"No, you didn't." He gave her a quick, sideways glance. "You were telling me about the L.A. field office, and how hard it was being one of the only women, and that you'd never date someone who you worked with."

"I didn't mean you!" She hurriedly went on, "I mean, I didn't mean it as a way to brush you off. I didn't even think there was anything to brush off."

"But you were right, Terry. It wouldn't have been appropriate. And I know this job can be harder for a woman, and being involved with your partner who's technically senior to you wouldn't have helped." He turned to face her then, leaning against the railing on one elbow. "So I didn't think any more of it."

The lights of the city were behind him, which made it hard to read his eyes. She was sure her own conflicting emotions were visible all over her face. "Well, at least you haven't been pining away for me all these years," she said lightly.

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Not pining," he said softly. "More like wondering."

Her mouth went dry. She went to lick her lips, and was unnerved further when his gaze shifted to her mouth. "I suppose I've wondered myself from time to time," she quietly replied. A lot more often in the past couple of weeks, but he didn't really need to know that.

"See, the thing is ... " He looked down, and she was suddenly struck with a vision of what he must have looked like as an unsure teenager. "I grew up here, you know, and I remember hanging out here in Santa Monica, and I always thought it would be a great place to bring a date. So that's where I was going to ask you to come."

"Talk about coming full circle," she murmured. He looked up, and she gave him a warm smile. "It's been a great date, Don."

He shook his head. "It hasn't been a date."

Her stomach dropped. So much for correctly interpreting what he was saying. Some psychologist she was.

He must have seen her dismayed expression, because he gave her a quick smile and laid a hand over hers on the railing. "No, see, I didn't get all nervous ahead of time or spend half an hour deciding what shirt to wear. And I definitely didn't clean out my car."

She couldn't suppress a grin. He was so good at those little comments that instantly put someone at ease, whether an interview subject or a friend. In fact, she was so at ease that she made an automatic rejoinder without thinking about the consequences. "And there hasn't been any kissing, so it definitely isn't a date."

"That could be arranged." His hand tightened over hers, and she drew in a breath at the look on his face. All of the light-heartedness had gone, and he was regarding her with the same kind of intense stare he usually reserved for a recaltricent witness or some other puzzle he was trying to unravel.

She swallowed. "Could it?" she asked softly, aware that her hand underneath his had started to sweat just a bit.

He took a step closer. "If you want," he murmured. She could tell he was trying to keep his tone light, but there was a vulnerability underlying his words.

And it was that slightest bit of hesitation on the part of the ultra-confident Don Eppes that gave her the courage to lean forward and press her lips against his.

His mouth was as warm and soft as she remembered, and right now tinged with just the faintest touch of chocolate from the ice cream they'd had earlier. As they pressed their bodies closer to each other, she thought she heard a wolf whistle from a group of teenagers walking past them. Don's mouth curved into a smile against hers, and she responded in kind.

Some time later they pulled apart, and she could see the same expression on his face that she felt on her own: half content and half desirous. His arms had somehow slipped around her, and her hands had found their way to the back of his neck. "So are you still wondering?" she asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

His face took on a look of mock seriousness. "A little. We might need to do that again, just to be sure."

"Oh, I see." The grin started at the corners of her mouth, and was swallowed up as he pulled her closer to him for another kiss. This one went on a little longer, and was a little deeper, and it set off a little frisson of something that she hadn't felt in a long time.

This time, the look in his eyes was definitely more on the side of desire than contentment. His arms tightened around her as he said quietly, "I'm starting to wish this wasn't so public a place." He gave his head a slight jerk to indicate the gaggle of teens who had passed them by, but not without another catcall or two.

"I would ask, 'your place or mine,' but I think the answer's pretty apparent," she gently teased.

He smiled. Then he lifted one hand and pushed the hair back from her face, tracing a line down her cheek. "Terry, what do you want?" he asked softly.

That's the problem, she thought, staring up into his warm brown eyes. I want too many things I can't have. I want you and I want to stay here. And I know I can only have one of those, if that.

Aloud she said, "I think ... I think I want to know what I'm missing."

His smile turned sad. "Yeah," he whispered. "That's kinda what I was thinking, too."

His hand slid behind her neck and pulled her towards him for another kiss. When they came up for air, she drew in a deep breath. "Don, what do you want?"

He was quiet for a moment, his hand gently stroking her hair. "For some reason, I've got Bob Seger running through my head." She gave him a quizzical look, and he softly sang, "'We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?'"

Yeah, that sounded about right. But there was something in his eyes, some reason he was hesitating. So she asked, "But...?"

"It's just -- " He sighed. "I guess I'm just afraid that this will mean too much, you know? That we're better off wondering. Or maybe we're better off trying it and finding out it won't work, which is what I'm half hoping will happen here out of some kind of emotional self-preservation."

"Are you saying you hope the sex is bad?"

He stared at her, and she could feel her cheeks begin to flame as she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, God, that was a little presumptuous, wasn't it?"

He pulled her towards him, tucking her head under his, and she could feel the chuckle rumbling in his chest. Come on Terry, don't beat around the bush. Just say what you mean."

She lightly smacked his chest. "Not funny," she muttered, but she felt her lips curving into a smile, relieved that he had taken her slip-up so well.

His chest rose and fell under hers. "But you do know what I mean?" he asked, suddenly serious.

She pulled back to look into his eyes. "Yes, I do. But Don, we're friends. We were friends before we became lovers, and we've been friends again for a long time. I don't think that's going to change, no matter what happens tonight."

"Still, here we are," he half-said, half-sang. "Both of us lonely..."

She snuggled up against him. "Not right now."

He looked down at her for another moment. "If you're sure."

"As sure as you are."

He let go and took a step back, grabbing her hand as he did so. "C'mon. We have the whole car ride home to talk ourselves out of it if we want."

She smiled and started forward with him.

And as it turned out, the car ride home didn't change a thing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"We are now above the altitude at which approved portable electronic devices may be used."

Terry automatically tuned out the rest of the flight attendant's announcement and continued gazing out the window. They were just passing over downtown, having taken off over the ocean before making the long 180-degree turn to head east. She saw the dark line of I-5 heading to the northwest, and then the Glendale Freeway snaking northward towards Montrose. She could make out the park near Don's apartment, and if she pressed her nose to the glass, she could just see his street. She looked for his building, but it was lost in the early morning haze.

He wasn't there, of course. He was going to head into the office after dropping her off at the ungodly hour of 5:45. At least he would beat the traffic, he joked, and maybe even get in before David, who seemed to delight in regularly showing up before anyone else in the office. He'd often teased David that they couldn't find him a partner until someone else joined the office who could work before 6:30 A.M.

She hadn't asked once, of anyone, how soon Don would be assigned a new partner, or who it might be.

As they passed over the San Gabriel Valley, she put her fingertip on the window to trace I-10 as it cut eastward through the endless sprawl of the Los Angeles Basin. She tracked the familiar landmarks of the interstate crossings, the Los Angeles River, and the giant railyards, the latter two of which she'd seen many times in far different ways than the average person did.

The Wilmington field office concentrated mostly on white-collar crime, thanks to the high concentration of financial and insurance headquarters in the low-tax state of Delaware. She probably wouldn't be chasing criminals down concrete ditches or through warehouses much anymore. Which, all in all, was probably a good thing. She'd ruined one too many pairs of shoes in some nameless puddle of industrial gunk before giving in and wearing the most plain and functional footwear she could get away with.

They were rising higher now, and the mass of the San Bernardino Mountains was coming into view, marking the eastern edge of the valley. This early in the morning, the mountains were still clear, but she knew they would soon be smothered in brown haze as the smog from the morning commute blew downwind until it was trapped by the tall peaks. Around the sides of the mountains, a few tendrils of suburban sprawl snaked into the desert. Then the landscape was empty but for the thin ribbon of interstate and the tiny vehicles moving along it through the orange-brown desert.

Terry sighed and turned away from the window. Twenty minutes into a six-hour flight, and she was already fidgety. At least there was no one in the middle seat, so she had a modicum of room to herself. She supposed she should get some sleep -- heaven knew she

didn't get much last night -- but the coffee Don had made to keep them awake enough to get to the airport was still running through her veins.

They hadn't had time for anything more than coffee, not with the way they put off getting up as long as they could. The alarm had jerked her awake just after 4 A.M., but they hadn't risen for at least another half hour. It had been so nice to wake up next to him, to feel his arm around her and against her bare skin, to be surrounded by his masculine scent. There were no last-minute emotional revelations, no wait-you-can't-go pleading. Just a feeling of contentment as he lazily played with her hair and they exchanged slow, soft kisses. As if pretending that that was the way it could have been.

They'd already showered last night, after, and so it didn't take more than a few minutes to make the coffee, get dressed, and head out. Traffic had been fine, and she'd arrived at the airport with time to spare. Their goodbye at the terminal was a lingering hug and a final, sweet kiss before the airport traffic cops urged Don to move along.

They hadn't said anything, but then there wasn't really much to say. "Curiosity satisfied?" she'd teased as they laid in bed, sweaty and spent.

"And more," he'd answered, before they both drifted off to sleep.

Well, at least now she knew what she'd be missing.

The plane banked gently to the right, and she could see the unnaturally green circles of the irrigated Imperial Valley. Coyotes, she thought. The case with the smugglers who trafficked in the bodies of desperate immigrants. Everything in Southern California reminded her of a case, probably always would. Every time she heard "Hollywood" or "Malibu" or "Pasadena" she'd think of some crime or offense.

She wondered how long it would take before she stopped thinking of Don with each one.

Sighing, she reached down for her bag, stuffed under the seat in front of her. She pulled out the tiny travel guide for Wilmington that was the only one she'd been able to find, and started paging through it. She'd already memorized the map, found the most likely neighborhoods to live in, seen what was near the FBI field office and what there was to do in town. Not a lot, as it turned out.

A folded piece of paper was sticking out from the latter pages of the book. She paged back to the section on sports and recreation, finding the paper inserted next to the description of the Wilmington Blue Rocks, the city's minor league baseball team. A slow smile spread over her face. She wouldn't have pegged Don for the love-letter type.

Shooting a quick glance to the side to make sure the occupant of the aisle seat was uninterested in what she was doing, she unfolded the paper and leaned back against the bulkhead.

"Dear Terry,

I don't know if you'll read this in a couple of weeks when you pick up this book after you've moved in, or if you've already found it while sitting at the gate. I figured we wouldn't get to talk much this morning, for lack of time as much as anything else. I just wanted you to know some things."

She took a deep breath before reading on.

"First, I'm glad we had last night. What you said on the pier that made me laugh? It wasn't a problem."

She grinned. No, the sex had not been a problem at all.

"Second, what I said on the pier afterwards. It wasn't a problem either. I mean -- " a sentence was crossed out and rewritten -- "I think it would work with us. You were right. We were friends first, and that would always be there. It's a heck of a time to figure that out, but like I said, it wouldn't have worked with you here and technically under my chain of command."

She sighed. He was right. It was good to know he'd been thinking the same thoughts she had, but it was still bittersweet.

"I'm sorry it took you going away to realize how special you are to me. I mean, I'm not going to take the next flight out to Delaware to talk you into coming back, and I don't think you'd want me to. But I do care about you, Terry, and I want you to be happy. And if that means being with me at some distant point in the future, in L.A. or somewhere else, that would be great. If it's with someone else, that'd be okay, too.

"I know we're not the same people we were ten years ago. And next time I see you, we won't be the same people we are today. That's why I'm not making any promises, and I wouldn't hold you to any. Just think about me sometimes, and know that I'm thinking about you. I'll miss you.

"Your friend, Don."

She folded the letter back up and stared out the window. She'd been wrong. It was exactly the kind of gesture Don would make. Not romantic as such, but understanding that they needed to say things to each other that they wouldn't have said face-to-face. And knowing just how to word it so that she'd understand what he meant. She pictured him scribbling it on the nightstand while she was in the shower, hastily folding it up and slipping it in her bag before taking his turn in the steaming water.

She wished she could see his face when he got home tonight and saw her letter on the bed saying almost exactly the same thing.

The engines dropped back to a low drone as the plane reached its cruising altitude. Terry stared down at the red rock desert 35,000 feet below, feeling every mile that was growing between her and Los Angeles. Then she fingered the paper in her hands and gave a sad smile. Don was right. She didn't want him to be on the next plane out. She had things to prove, at least professionally speaking, that she couldn't do in L.A. And she had a feeling that while maybe last night had been a revelation to both of them after all, it required some time to think through.

But given enough time, maybe things would work out. She had an old FBI friend at the San Diego field office. Maybe giving her a call would be a good start. After all, they could probably use someone in a few years who had experience leading a field office.


End file.
